Warhammer Fanfiction: The Survival of Ignith
by aremystoriesanygood
Summary: Ignith: the lone city state independent of the Empire is in trouble. A mighty ogre warband has crushed the city's main army and are pursuing the remnants. Alwyn and Dalag find themselves trapped in the ancient city of Gilmesh with their Lord, whilst back in Ignith, the Barons and Council deliberate what to do.
1. Chapter I: The End

The sounds of war echoed down the dank corridors. The loud chime of metal on metal, the dull thud of now blunt weapons finding flesh, and of course, the screams of the dying all came together in a cacophony of chaos.

Alwyn watched the drops of rain as they seeped through the cracks in the ornate ceiling and wriggled down the stone walls. One stream made its way down like a snake, curled along an arch and dropped into the large puddle at his feet. He looked around the moss-ridden room and felt a pang of despair: the remnants of Ignith's army were a bloody mess. Every man there bore some kind of wound and they were all exhausted following days of fighting. Alwyn couldn't believe that of the original 10,000 who had left the gates of Ignith this was all that remained. Well, this and the unfortunate bastards who were caught outside the temporary safety of the heavy doors during the blind retreat.

"Sir Alwyn, have you any shot left?"

He looked up to see his battle-scarred friend Dalag standing a few feet away.

Alwyn managed a half smile as he thought of the good times they had had together and checked one of his belt pouches.

"Aye Sir Dalag, I have 3. Take this one as I doubt we will have the chance to reload when it starts".

Dalag stepped into the puddle with his iron boots, reached out and took the metal ball from the seated Alwyn. He proceeded to start loading his deadly pistol and lent against the same wall his friend was slouching against.

With tired eyes, Alwyn watched his bearded comrade load the long pistol. The gun was beautiful, half oak half iron, the length of a man's arm and bearing the Dalag family crest of a centaur.

A particularly loud scream interrupted his thoughts and he decided to load his own pistol. It was much simpler, lacking a crest and criss-crossed with dents and scratches. How original his father had been when choosing it. What he'd lacked in originality though he had made up for in courage.

His father had been promoted to Knight of Ignith upon his heroics at the Battle of The Falling Sky and the son wished he was in the room that day to lift his spirits.

A loud click to his right informed him that Dalag had finished loading his pistol.

"How many do you think we have left here Sir Alwyn?" Dalag asked despite knowing the answer.

Alwyn looked around the large room at the tired faces and tried to drown out the clash outside. He grabbed at another pouch, this one with gunpowder in it.

"Not enough".

Dalag half snorted half chortled and spat out a gob of blood.

"Tell me something I don't know".

Alwyn looked up at his friend with a stern look, "I like to play the harp".

Dalag stared back, his bushy eyebrows betraying the puzzled look on his face, then laughed loudly and slapped his iron-clad fist on Alwyn's shoulder.

How strange that even in the face of destruction man seeks levity.

Most of the surrounding men were idly chatting, praying or quietly thinking of better times and Dalag's laugh bounced off the chamber walls despite the roars outside.

"In all seriousness though Sir Alwyn, all I can see is 30 regular men".

By regular Dalag meant the knights, men who had been trained in war since they could stand. Men covered in heavy armour, all with shields displaying their myriad of crests and all missing their prized mounts. The horses had been amongst the first to die in the first battle 2 months ago. The rest had been either assigned to messengers bound for Ignith or had died of exhaustion.

Alwyn reached into his shot pouch and took out his penultimate round. The ball was the size of a small apple and its weight reassured him that whatever it met in flight would die. He dropped it in the closer half of the gun and clicked it shut.

He lent forward on his knees and stretched his back, watching the irregular men at his left. There must have been 50 of them altogether, most with either a helmet or breastplate, never both, and carrying leather shields with the coat of arms of Ignith: the lone tower. Of the 50, Alwyn counted that half carried proper weapons. Axes, spears, halberds, and the odd sword here and there, inevitably scavenged from the dead. The other half were almost useless, carrying scythes, long knives, or pitchforks with metal tips. None of these could pierce armour or maim the enemy, let alone kill.

The sound of fighting was slowly dying down, with every man in the chamber aware that soon they would fight their final fight.

"At least we have some gunners" Dalag interrupted, loosening a leather strap near his crotch.

Of course, the gunners. Alwyn had seen Ignith's battalion of ranged troops cut down during the second battle, with the archers largely ineffective. However the gunners had proved immensely valuable, their 5-foot long muskets spitting hell-fire at anything within range.

"20 by the looks of it" Alwyn responded nodding his head in approval. He could even see 10 chargers had survived, small children who would reload and pass the muskets to their masters hoping one day to become gunners themselves. This generation would not fulfill that dream, and the best they could hope for was a quick death.

All of the knights were huddled together on the right hand side of the chamber, most sharpening weapons, reloading pistols, or consulting with their Lord. Alwyn didn't see the point in speaking with him, escape was impossible as this chamber had but one exit/entrance, the large wooden doors on the other side of the room.

Suddenly, the clash outside stopped. The last pockets of resistance had finally been crushed, and for a moment Alwyn was glad he hadn't been separated from the men inside.

"Gunners, centre!" bellowed Captain Tussen. Everyone liked Tussen, his white hair and beard conveying years of service to the Lords of Ignith.

All of the men in the chamber stood up wearily and the gunners took position 50 feet from the doors, the front 10 kneeling with the second row standing behind them. The chargers kneeled either side of their masters.

The chamber was a good size at least Alwyn thought, with the entrance only admitting 5 men at a time and the room itself allowing 15 to stand shoulder to shoulder. This would make their numbers count and he cracked his neck to alleviate the stiffness he carried from countless days of hard marching.

The 30 knights then split into two groups either side of the gunners, with Lord Towen and Captain Tussen on the right side.

"Sir Dalag, take the left" called Captain Tussen.

Dalag nodded and both he and Alwyn stood in the front rank on the left side. The irregular men filed in behind both groups of knights, trying to take courage from the iron men in front.

Alwyn had his shield latched to his left arm and his helmet under his right. The damn thing was ancient, clear from its somewhat triangular shape, and the visor had been shattered during the first battle. Nonetheless, it had saved his skull a few times before as well as his father's, and he gave a quick prayer to the Gods to keep his wife and child safe.

"Men of the Ignith, you have followed me into battle" started the voice of Lord Towen. As he spoke he broke rank and stood facing his army. He wasn't wearing his helmet yet so the men could hear him. "And we have fought for 2 full moons without stopping".

Alwyn didn't like the man who had led them to their deaths. He hadn't liked him before that either, and he certainly wasn't going to waste the last seconds of his life listening to this young prick. He muffled him out and again thought of his wife. She would be preparing lunch now for their son, maybe one of her lovely rabbit stews. He wanted to be there smoking his pipe and drinking fine ale, but instead he was here, in the cursed city of Gilmesh, long abandoned by some unknown race.

He looked at his left hand, the palm bound tightly in some dirty rag that seeped blood and puss. Alwyn watched the 20-year-old Lord try to motivate the men and admired his ornate armour. The rims of each individual piece were made of gold, and on his breastplate was the tower of Ignith.

Towen was still talking. By the Gods this man was boring.

"And so for Ignith, let them know who they faced this day!" roared Towen, lifting his longsword with his right arm.

Suddenly, there was a deafening crack of wood as something shot through the big doors with incredible speed, throwing Lord Towen violently to the feet of the gunners. It had impaled him completely, lodging itself in his chest. The men were stupefied.

"My Lord!" screamed one of the men on the right flank. Captain Tussen grabbed him by the shoulder before he could break ranks and held him in place.

"Ready!" he cried.

Alwyn put on his helmet and aimed his pistol at the hole in the door, as did Dalag. They looked at each other for an instant and said nothing. Everyone prepared themselves. This was it.

The door smashed open completely as the ogre charged through and fell to one knee. He was flanked by two others, all three chosen to take the brunt of our attack.

"Front - fire!"

The kneeling rank of gunners obliged Tussen and fired a quick volley, ripping chunks of flesh from the three monsters and killing them instantly.

Then came the second file of ogres, three again due to the size of the entrance

"Back - fire!"

Another volley again, thumping the fat, powerful bodies of the ogres and dropping all 3.

"Gunners back!"

They stepped back a few feet, their chargers reloading as many muskets as they could on the way.

"Form!"

Both flanks of the knights moved to fill the gap left by the gunners and formed 3 ranks. Only a few had pistols or spears and they were placed in the front rank, ready to repel anything that came their way.

There was a pause though. Nothing else came. All Alwyn could hear was the frantic loading of muskets and the rain beating down outside.

"Something bad is going to happen," said one of the irregular men a few ranks back. A sergeant thumped the back of his head to shut him up.

Then from the rain came 3 leadbelchers.

Before anyone could react, all 3 fired their mobile canons in unison and devastated the front rank of knights, carving holes in the metal mass. One of the shots, the size of a man's head, hit the man to Alwyn's flank and left a red mist of blood in the air. Another knight took his place and Alwyn heard Tussen's voice over the shrieks of men.

"Front - fire at will".

The three leadbelchers dropped their cannons and charged in without any weapons. They were followed by more ogres.

A few shots rung out from the knights and two of the leadbelchers were killed, with the third wounded but still charging like a bull. Alwyn and Dalag both aimed at him and fired in unison, hitting his bare chest and killing the beast. But it was too late now to reload their pistols. The ogres were 10 feet away, screaming in their disgusting language and snarling through their missing teeth.

Alwyn drew his sword and Dalag his hand axe.

Just before the front rank met the humans a volley sounded from the gunners at the back and again the monsters fell. The ogres were all a chest and head larger than even the tallest man, so the gunners could aim true and split skulls with shot until all was lost.

"Now!" Tussen yelled, and the knights charged.

Against ogres, a force can only stand in rank if they all possess iron spears. The only thing the men could do now was try to weave around the clumsy beasts and hack at anything non-human.

Alwyn charged screaming, his sword held low.

The ogre nearest had a huge chunk of wood riddled with spikes held high with both arms. It brought the weapon down on the charging knights and obliterated one of the men behind Alwyn. Dalag threw his axe straight at the skull of the monster and Alwyn came in lightning fast and slashed one of its calves. They moved foreword.

The next beast had a huge meat-cleaver in one hand and table in the other acting as a shield. The blue tattoos on its shoulders let the men know that he had killed many and this would not be easy. Dalag drew his sword and both men charged. Someone threw a javelin which the brute blocked with the table and Alwyn knew it was time to strike. He stabbed his sword down into the monster's foot and ducked as it bellowed and slashed the cleaver sideways. He kept moving, turned and slashed his blade across his foe's belly, revealing bits of green and purple gut. As he looked back he saw the ogre smash the table into Dalag, sending him flying. It turned and chopped down the cleaver, scraping Alwyns shield.

That was too close.

A shot cracked and hit the beast in the spine, allowing Alwyn to get to his friend.

"Fuck me I didn't see that one coming!" Dalag echoed through his closed visor.

Alwyn quickly looked around to see what was happening. The knights were down to half their strength and he saw the irregular join the melee as Tussen called them to the fray.

The knight could see his next target and exchanged quick looks with Dalag to confirm it. The ogre had a blade instead of a left arm and a stone hammer clenched in its right. Again it had the same tattoos but this one had a metal shield strapped to its gut. It crushed one of the knights with the hammer and cut one of the irregular men in half with his blade.

It saw the two men and stepped forward, screaming its war cry.

Again, Alwyn and Dalag exchanged looks, understanding one another after years of comradery and both stepped back as the ogre brought down his hammer. With the hammer down, they stepped forward and simultaneously cut at the thick arm.

Both blows together severed the arm, and the beast shrieked horribly and stepped back, leaving its hand gripping the crude hammer. It swung its left arm wildly, lopping the head off an irregular man and cutting a chunk out of another ogre. That ogre was not pleased, and sunk its huge sword into its armless compatriot. It then looked at Alwyn.

Immediately, Dalag bolted forward and threw his weight into the knee of the ogre before it could get a firm stance, shattering the knee cap. It lifted its head high letting out a scream and smashed its fist down into Dalags back, throwing him to the ground viciously.

Alwyn could see his friend's death and ran at the beast with his sword in the air. It saw him coming and swung the long sword at him, scraping the wall with the tip and sending sparks flying. Alwyn's armour was heavy but he used his running momentum and rolled underneath the blow, bringing his sword up behind him and shattering its wrist. He looked forward quickly only to see a huge foot kick him in the chest and face, throwing his body back into a large puddle.

He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything. He rubbed them and light started to appear. He was lying in the puddle of rainwater, blood, and shit next to a severed corpse. He lifted his head up and looked for his friend.

Dalag had recovered and dispatched of the ogre with a sword thrust through the jaw and into its brain. He looked frantically to find his friend but had to react to the ogre that had kicked Alwyn, ducking and weaving the huge axe it was wealding.

Alwyn quickly looked for a weapon in the puddle, finding a long bollock knife. This could work for now.

He stood up and threw the knife with all his might at the monster, piercing it in the neck. It shot a look at him and that was enough for Dalag to kneel down and thrust his sword into the genitals of the beast. They both regrouped and could hear the sound of a horn coming from outside the chamber. The ogres stopped fighting and stepped back, the humans only too happy to gain a moment of rest.

"Regroup! To me, to me!"

Thank the Gods, Tussen still lived despite his battered armour. The remaining men shuffled towards their leader and formed ranks. As they did, Alwyn looked around at the scene of carnage. There were corpses everywhere and the foul stench of death dominated the room.

It was a lot darker in the chamber as the ogres' immense size blocked out the light from the entrance. Alwyn couldn't make out their features, only silhouettes.

"6 left", Dalag whispered.

6 knights. He gave a calculating glance to the group of men and saw that 13 irregulars and 8 gunners remained. The latter he noticed were reloading frantically. He copied them.

The men were breathing deeply, scared by the silence of their huge enemies and shaken by their heavy losses.

"What are they waiting for?" said an anonymous voice.

"Quiet!" Tussen berated him.

The ogres at the entrance parted ways and a large shadow darkened the room further. Again, the men couldn't see its features, but it was clear from the sound it made that it was strapped in thick armour.

"Stop! One more move and we blow you away!" The old captain could not let them win this moral victory as well, and he lifted his double barrel pistol. The gunners did the same and Alwyn realised he didn't have a melee weapon. He scanned the ground but felt a nudge at his right. Dalag was presenting him with a handaxe and Alwyn nodded, taking it firmly in his grip.

The monster had stopped and cocked its head to one side as if studying Tussen.

It then straightened its head and charged head long into the pocket of cowering men.

Nothing needed to be said as the shots fired before any command was given. The majority bounced off the heavy armour, a few missed, but three found their target, sinking into the unguarded legs of the creature. But still it came, more enraged than ever. Attached to its forearms were two trident blades, weapons that proved it was a champion, and it held them close to its burly chest to protect the small patches of unarmoured skin.

It was then that Tussen broke ranks and ran straight for it, dropping his expended pistol and lifting his double axe with both arms.

"Ignith!"

Right before they met, the champion opened its arms, revealing a one eyed face and the skull of a strange creature on its chest. It went to punch Tussen with one of its tridents, but the old knight had judged his charge well.

As he stepped through one of the puddles he kicked it abruptly, sending blood and water into the beasts exposed eye. This made it punch early, and the crafty Captain darted to one side with the speed of an elf, sinking his axe into the exposed side of the ogre. The beast turned quickly and lost balance, axe still firmly dug into its side. It looked Tussen in the eyes, its enormous back blocking the view of the men watching.

Alwyn moved slightly to watch Tussen and noticed him drawing a short sword. The Captain's shield had been destroyed in the breach of the doors and was useless, so he held his blade with both hands at shoulder height, pointing at the beast in half-guard.

The ogre stepped forward quickly and brought an arm down to crush the old warrior but again he was quick on his feet and slashed under the plated arm making blood flow from its bicep. It flailed the other arm in a half circle to break the man but missed again and Tussen brought the sword down into its armoured foot, finding the gap between the plates and driving it through its ankle. He tried to pull out the sword, but it was stuck.

Abruptly the ogre grabbed him with its huge hands and shook the captain, snarling in his face as it did. In one motion, it then lifted him up over its head and ripped him in half, throwing the lower half to the floor and raising the other even higher.

The remaining ogres boomed their voices in approval and made the walls shake. The men just stared at what was left of their leader.

The ogre champion then held Tussen's upper half over its head and let the blood trickle down into its mouth, sticking its tongue out and licking its lips.

Alwyn and Dalag knew it was finally over. The remaining men knew.

The conquering ogre then said something in its repulsive language and the rest moved in quickly.

Two ogres came for Alwyn and Dalag with their hands outstretched. Alwyn chopped the fingers off one of them with a quick wave of the axe and Dalag sunk his sword straight into the palm of another, but both men were grabbed and thrown to the floor. Alwyns eyes closed slowly and he could feel his head bleeding. The last sounds he heard were a faint gunshot and heavy footsteps coming for him.

This was how they became slaves.


	2. Chapter II: The City of the Lone Tower

**Chapter II: The City of the Lone Tower**

Baron Victor Towen paced about the circular room, his eyes staring through the smooth walls into nothingness. It was late, but he needed answers. Every time footsteps sounded in the long corridors he would pause and hold his breath in anticipation, hoping for another report. It had been days since the last messenger had delivered tidings of the campaign and he was getting more restless by the minute. The fire crackled intermittently, illuminating the room but unable to shine a light on this infernal fog of war.

It had been three months since his cousin and the majority of the Ignithian army had marched to face the ogre scourge. Since then he had heard of two dire battles, with initial reports estimating catastrophic losses. Part of him wished that he had stood with his fellow Ignithian's, whilst the other thanked the God's he hadn't. The city's laws and traditions didn't allow for the entire nobility to attend war, with at least three Barons having to remain near the city to protect it at all times. This had been learnt the hard way and unlike the City Council, the nobility were well versed in the songs of war.

He walked out onto the balcony and took in the spectacular sight. From the Lone Tower, one could not only see the city, but also the surrounding farmland, forests and mountains. The moon gave its light to the rooftops below, making it seem calm and serene, unaware of the tribulations outside its imposing walls. Victor's green eyes jumped from house to house as he thought of the people. They had been so jovial in wishing their sons, fathers, and brothers to war, imploring them to bring back war trophies and riches. How that would change.

The three remaining Barons had agreed with the City Council that the people could not know of the defeats suffered. Panic would spread, lawlessness would prevail, and inevitably the Empire would send emissaries to squeeze the free city. No, until the extent of the defeat was clear and the remainder of the army marched back through the city gates, not a word would be said.

Despite his 28 years, he felt much older, weighed down by the state of affairs and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He placed his big hands on the low wall in front of him and leaned forward slightly. It was an old habit that he had performed twice already that night, but he continued to scan the lights on the wall meticulously, trying to make out the dark shadows of the city guard.

"One, two, three…" he counted aloud the number of garrisons on duty.

Before he could continue, a knock sounded at the door.

He spun around effortlessly and strode into the warmth of the room. As he approached the door he held his sword in its sheath, always weary of possible threats.

"The wolf howls as the silver moon shines"

"His brothers call so he may survive", replied the voice behind the door.

Finally: news.

Victor opened the door and was greeted by a skinny hooded figure. Below the dark hood, he saw the cold blue eyes of his personal spymaster. Those eyes quickly darted to the Barons sword hand and Victor relaxed it to ease his servant's mind.

"One can never be too careful Agnur", Victor explained as he turned his back.

"Yes Baron", replied the spymaster as he followed him in and closed the door behind him.

Victor waved at the two leather chairs near the fireplace and both men sat down, leaning close to each other.

"Well?" Victor whispered.

Agnur looked at his Baron's face as the fire flickered on it. He had delivered bad news before, but never on such a scale.

"The army is routed Sire".

Victor's face twitched and he shuffled on his seat, "what do you mean?"

The spymaster leaned closer. "Following the second defeat, the army fled in panic. It split into several smaller bands, all blindly seeking shelter from the grey skins."

"I know this man, tell me what happened to our Lord". Victor was becoming impatient now.

"I found the remnants of his contingent in the city of Gilmesh, Baron Towen." Agnur watched as Victor's face visibly dropped: if his cousin had sought sanctuary there he must have been desperate. Strands of his slicked back, brown hair had escaped and were falling down his worried face. "Outside the city there must have been an ambush as I found a field of skeletons carrying our banners." This was typical of any ogre victory, their hunger knew no limits and they would devour anything that bled.

The Baron pushed the meddlesome hairs back into line and beckoned Agnur to continue.

"My Baron, I bring you this," he said, reaching into a hidden sleeve and holding out a small pendant.

Victor recognized it immediately, the blue sapphire belonging to his Lordship betrayed his cousin's death. Like most people, he held no love for his cousin. Lord Kasenio Towen had been foolhardy, stupid, and surrounded himself with vile advisors, men hailing from foreign realms instead of Ignith itself. Nonetheless, his death was a tragedy for the city Victor thought as he took the pendant carefully.

"What of his armour?"

"Taken Sire."

It made sense. Like all victors ogres liked trophies, and what better prize than the famous Lone Tower breastplate. Friedrik, the first Towen to become Lord of Ignith, had paid a small fortune for it nearly 80 years ago, and to lose such a talisman of the city and family was unforgivable.

Agnur interlocked his fingers as they wrested on his stomach, watching the clogs turning in Victor's mind. He had been a spy since the age of 7, and now in his 38th winter he was very good at his job. The other spies and scouts sent out had not been able to distinguish between the different fleeing parties, thus had been unable to find the chamber of bones where Lord Towen had fallen. But he had, and that was why he was in the service of his Baron.

"Do you know of any other nobles that may have escaped?" Victor interjected, looking his servant in the eyes.

"Two of my spies reported that Baron Kiepling and Baron Mewes survived. They are making their way here with an entourage of 37 men in total."

Finally, some good news, thought Victor. The city needed as many Barons as possible, and Mewes was highly popular in Ignith and the international stage. Diplomacy would be key to the city's survival now.

"Anything else?"

"Yes Sire. Another of my men said he spotted an Imperial delegation 8 days march from here".

Fuck. Since the inception of Ignith 1,000 years ago, the Empire had always pushed and prodded the free city, waiting for the right moment to engulf it into anonymity. Not whilst he lived.

"What banner?"

"Stirland." The neighbouring state. Ignith had clashed with them previously during the Trade Wars centuries ago, and since then they had been the face of Imperial oppression.

Victor sat back in the plush chair, wishing it would engulf him completely and wake him from this nightmare. He ran through the information in his head again, staring blankly at the dancing flames.

"Nobody of note Baron, simply an ambassador" Agnur continued, trying to shed light on the situation. If it had been a prominent figure, the message conveyed by Middenland would have been bad, or at least worse than the usual. He looked at the clay cup of wine sitting idly on the small table to Victor's side, noticing it was untouched.

"What news of the ogre warband?" Victor said without moving his eyes from the fireplace.

"Many of my spies following the different hordes have not returned Sire. But I have credible sources stating that they have stopped hunting our bands and are amassing again."

The Baron's eyes darted at Agnur.

"20 miles from Bailing". So they were travelling south now. With luck they would either scamper back up the peaks of the World's End Mountains they had descended from or continue south into Averland. However, Victor didn't trust luck, it had never been on this city's side before so why should it start now. At least the town of Bailing had been abandoned already, its refugees flocking to the safety of the capital.

"Ensure there are always eyes present on the beasts and report their movements back to me. Take rest, you have served me well." And with that he dismissed the spymaster who in one easy move got up, nodded, and exited the room.

The Baron was fully alone with his thoughts now. Too many ran through his mind, darting left like a fox in a hunt. He had to tell the other Barons about the news, but it was too late now: his vision was becoming blurry and the sun would soon rise. Victor thought to himself that sleep was the best option and stood up to face the fire. He grabbed the cup of wine from the short table, gulping it in one go. That would help his restlessness.

There was no point heading to his bed and sharing the news with his wife just yet, so he slumped back in the chair and thought of how he would phrase the dark news to his fellow Barons.

After all, Lord Towen's father would not be pleased.


End file.
